


christmas elves, carols, and other clichés

by D_melanogaster



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Era, Stucky secret santa, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mentioned canon minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_melanogaster/pseuds/D_melanogaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky and Christmas through the years.</p>
<p>Or: The first time Steve and Bucky met, Bucky thought that Steve was a Christmas elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	christmas elves, carols, and other clichés

**Author's Note:**

  * For [malome78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malome78/gifts).



> My secret santa present for malome78. Merry Christmas everybody! :)

**I. The first meeting**

It was Christmas Eve, and Bucky was five years and three quarters old. His Dad was late getting home from work, and his Mom was baking in the kitchen. Bucky’s little siblings were in bed, but he was old enough that he got to wait for his Dad to come home, and he felt big and important. Poison was crooning on the radio about all roses having thorns, and the whole apartment smelled like cinnamon. Bucky was sitting on the couch, where he’d been impatiently fidgeting and staring at the clock, wondering what was taking Dad so long. He’d ended up staring at the lights on the Christmas tree instead, enthralled by the colors.

Even so, when there was a knock on the door, he was up like a shot, and had run to open the door before his mother had even heard the knocking over the radio. It didn’t really occur to him that Dad had keys, and could let himself in, until the door was open and he was standing face to face with a Christmas elf.

The elf was shorter than Bucky, and really thin and spindly-looking, with a pointy jaw and a straight nose and ruddy red cheeks. It was a boy-elf, clearly, and he was wearing green pants and a red sweater and a Santa hat. He seemed as surprised to see Bucky as Bucky was to see him.

They gaped at each other for a moment, until Bucky gathered his wits and called for his mother.

“Mom! There’s an _elf_ at the door!” he yelled, equal amounts of thrilled and astonished. The elf didn’t like it; his whole face blushed really red, and his was a very impressively deep frown for such a little face.

“I’m not an elf,” he said, affronted, “I’m Steve and I’m a _boy_.”

“You can be a boy and an elf,” Bucky told him, quite serious.

“I’m _not_ an _elf,_ ” Steve the elf repeated with emphasis, and at this point, Bucky’s Mom rushed to the door.

“Oh, hello, who are you?” She asked kindly, peering at the hallway but there was nobody else there. “Where are your parents?”

“I’m Steve,” Steve the elf said again, glaring at Bucky as if daring him to imply anything different. “My mom’s home. Is Mrs. Reed here?”

“Lovely to meet you, Steve. I’m Winifred Barnes, and this is my son, Bucky,” Bucky’s mom said. “Mrs. Reed lives one floor up, darling. Where do you live?”

Steve pointed at the door across the hall from Bucky’s family’s door. The old Mr. Kendrick used to live there, but then his children took him home, Bucky’s Dad had said. Steve and his mom must be the new family living there.

“Why are you looking for Mrs. Reed?” Mom asked next, and Steve crossed his arms, looking really affronted again.

“My mom says that if you’re rude and make someone feel bad you should say sorry. Mrs. Reed was really rude to my mom and didn’t even say sorry,” Steve said, standing up straighter and puffing his chest out a bit so he looked a little bigger. He still looked really little, Bucky thought.

“And you were going to tell her to apologize?” Bucky’s mom asked, and Steve nodded. It made Mom make a little cooing sound, the one that she usually made at fluffy dogs and babies and Bucky when his tummy hurt. “Oh, dear. Does your mother know?”

“She’s in the shower,” Steve muttered, not looking at Bucky or his mom anymore. Bucky’s mom tsk-tsked at him, and Steve hung his head.

“Why don’t you keep Bucky company here at the door for a moment?” she said, in the way that was a question but really meant they’d better do so or else, and marched to Steve’s door and rang the bell. Bucky lost interest in those proceedings very quickly, when Steve was much more intriguing and right there in front of him.

“Are you sure you’re not an elf? You’re dressed like one,” he said, and Steve shrugged.

“My grandma wanted Christmas pictures, and my Mom always makes me dress up for them,” Steve replied grudgingly.

“Was I rude when I called you an elf? I’m sorry,” Bucky said, figuring that this was probably why Steve didn’t want to talk to him. “I think elves are aces. How old are you? I’m five.”

Steve peered at him a bit suspiciously still, and Bucky tried to look really nice and friendly. It probably worked, because then Steve lightened up and said he was five, too, and that Bucky was the first kid his age he’d met here, and wasn’t that rad, and then they were interrupted by Steve’s mother coming to berate Steve for leaving home alone without even any word of where he went, and that was how they became friends.

**II. The Christmas caroling**

“The neighbors don’t like me anymore,” Steve said mournfully from where he was lounging on Bucky’s bed, supposedly doing his homework. Bucky, _actually_ working on his homework on the floor, laughed at this.

“Mrs. Reed’s never liked you. You kicked her in the shins and called her evil the first time you met her,” Bucky pointed out, still laughing. “ _And,_ you called on pretty much every door in the building to ask if she was there and told people that she made your mom cry. Even though you knew full well where she lived after you’d come to our door.”

“She called Mom a scarlet woman!” Steve cried out indignantly, making Bucky laugh harder, because that was what Steve _always_ said, with that same affronted incredulity, like it still shocked him ten years later that someone had dared to insult his mother.

“Hey, I didn’t say I disagree with you. I’m just saying she never liked you,” Bucky said, and Steve huffed.

“Yeah, well, the little oldies closed the lift doors on me today,” he muttered, staring at Bucky’s bedspread and blinking intensely.

“What, _your_ little oldies? What did they do that for?” Bucky asked, and now it was his turn to be incensed. Steve just lifted his shoulders a little and didn’t even look at Bucky, who took it as his cue to get up on the bed next to Steve. He gave Steve a little nudge in the arm with his elbow, and Steve shot him a half-hearted glare back.

“Hey, come on, punk. It’s probably just that you look a little too tough for them at the moment,” Bucky said gently.

And it was true that Steve looked a little bad – if Steve at five had gone kicking old hags in the shins for calling his mother names, Steve at fifteen was ready to go twelve rounds with anyone that was behaving badly. Unfortunately, Steve at fifteen was still short and slight, and as a result, he was currently recovering from a split lip and a broken nose, and had two very impressive black eyes. This observation didn’t seem to comfort Steve, whose was just blinking faster – and Bucky hadn’t certainly tried to make Steve want to cry _more_. Shit.

“Stevie, they know you, okay? They’re not afraid of you, and they don’t think you’re a bad guy. They’ve come to your school plays and art shows and birthdays since you moved in here. You’re their perfect little angel, and they’ll remember it soon. A few fistfights aren’t gonna scare them off for good,” Bucky said, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders and squeezing briefly. This earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs, but Steve lightened up, so it was worth it.

-*-

There was nothing in the world that would be worth this torture, Bucky decided a few days later, as Steve waved the papers in front of his face in excitement. He’d really brought this on himself, Bucky supposed. He’d kind of given Steve the idea, probably, when he said that Steve’s beloved little old ladies would soon remember that Steve was a good kid. It figured that Steve would take matters into his own hands and remind them.

With Christmas carols.

And drag Bucky along.

“Come on, Bucky, it’ll be fun!” Steve cajoled, correctly interpreting Bucky’s expression as one of great reluctance. “It’s just singing. You _like_ singing. Please?”

Even if Bucky had forgotten about how the apparent disregard of their neighbors had almost made Steve cry, the “please” would have made him say yes anyway. He had never been very good at saying no to Steve.

“Okay, fine.” It was more like a long-suffering sigh than an enthusiastic agreement, but Bucky was rewarded with a quick hug from Steve anyway. And then left alone, as Steve ran off to talk Bucky’s sisters into it, as well.

-*-

It appeared none of the Barnes children could say no to Steve, because he’d managed to marshal all four of them to the fourth floor, where all of the little oldies lived. Becca, Bucky’s oldest sister, rang the first doorbell – and apparently she was clairvoyant or something, because clearly they’d interrupted afternoon tea, and all three of the ladies they’d intended to serenade had been invited.

And they looked so absolutely _delighted_ to see the bunch of teenagers and pre-teens at the door wearing Santa hats that for a moment Bucky was convinced that it had been a good idea. Then they started singing, and he remembered that Steve was entirely tone-deaf. Steve made up for it by being extremely enthusiastic about singing, but he was belting the words out right by Bucky’s ear, and Bucky was afraid his smile had turned into a grimace about two words into Jingle bells.

After the song was over, Becca took one look at Bucky’s face and promptly burst into laughter. Bucky felt it was pretty insensitive of her, as he was fairly sure his right eardrum was never going to be the same again.

The little oldies were inviting Steve in for tea and cookies, though, so he didn’t really mind.

And if next year, Bucky was the one who suggested the caroling, well. Neither he nor Steve let Becca know just whose idea it was, that time.

**III. The Christmas cake**

The year Bucky was nineteen, he rang in Christmas with his head down a toilet.

It wasn’t one of his better years.

Steve was bumbling around behind him, being a useless mother hen, because it wasn’t like Bucky’s hair was long enough that he needed anyone to hold it back for him – and even if it were, _hair ties_ were a thing, there was really no scenario he could think of where he wanted someone to watch him puke. But there Steve was, nevertheless, and clearly he wasn’t leaving. It had already been a few hours.

As has been the Barnes-Rogers tradition for years now, Steve and his mom had spent the Christmas Eve with Bucky’s family. And that’s why Steve had had a front-row seat to the spectacle that was Bucky’s food poisoning. From Christmas cake. Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done to deserve this, but clearly it was something worth a bigger punishment than getting coal for Christmas.

And if spending the whole evening throwing up with an audience wasn’t bad enough, it had to be _Steve_. Of course it had to be Steve. Because it wasn’t pathetic enough as it was, that Bucky had been practically pining for his best friend since they were sixteen, but now he got to be glad of his food poisoning because it had Steve rubbing a hand down his back and holding a wet towel on his neck. Basically, just _touching_ him. For hours.

Bucky felt miserable at the moment, but he had a feeling that he would be thinking very fondly of this night later on.

When Bucky had finally spent half an hour without throwing up once, Steve handed him a new bottle of Gatorade and told him to take small sips, this time.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve said gently, throwing an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky was grateful for it; they were more or less the same height now, after Steve’s growth spurt, and Steve was much more comfortable to lean on than the bathtub.

“It’s not like you made the cake, Steve. Or even made me eat it,” Bucky replied, shuddering as he thought of it. Okay, it was true that he had been at the little oldies’ afternoon tea because Steve had asked him to come along, but that was where Steve’s responsibility ended, so it couldn’t really be blamed on him.

“But if I’d had it, too – ” was all Steve managed to get out before Bucky burst into side-splitting laughter, and really, that was a remarkable achievement for Steve to be able to make him laugh like that just then.

“Let’s be real, Stevie,” Bucky said, still giggling, “if you’d had it you’d just be much worse off than me right now, and you know it.”

“But then you wouldn’t have had to eat so much,” said Steve with a little self-deprecating shrug, which cracked Bucky up again.¨

“Steve, you have _celiac disease_ ,” he said, taking another drink in an attempt to calm down his hysterics. “I appreciate your willingness to suffer unduly for me, but come on. I’ll spend today in the bathroom and be okay tomorrow. You would have been sick for _days_.”

“But you’re miserable,” Steve argued, and Bucky poked him in the side.

“You think I’d be happier if you were miserable, instead? Quit it with your buts, punk, and stop making me talk, my throat hurts.”

Steve just smiled softly at him and drew him closer, so that he could lean his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Yeah, Bucky would be thinking about this _very fondly_ later on.

**IV. The Christmas Steve forgot**

The year Bucky and Steve were twenty-two, Sarah Rogers died at the end of November.

Steve had drudged through December in a fog, first taking care of the funeral and then just taking care of putting one foot in front of the other to keep going. His mother had been ill, so it wasn’t a shock, per se, but it was a devastating blow anyway. And if his Christmas spirit was nowhere to be found that year, well, nobody was really surprised.

And it’s not like Steve was entirely aware of it, anyway. The Christmas decorations had been up everywhere for ages, as always, and all the stores played their Christmas playlists, so of course he knew that it was coming. But the actual date took him entirely by surprise, when Bucky came to fetch him for breakfast on Christmas Eve.

It had been their tradition for Steve and his mom to have dinner with Barnes family on Christmas Eve, but this year the invitation had been extended to Steve for the whole holidays. And apparently Bucky had decided that Steve was going to be there for the entire time, judging by the fact that he’d come to fetch him at – Steve snuck a glance at the clock – goddamn seven o’clock in the morning, seriously?

He was kind of impressed, actually. Bucky was so not a morning person.

But he was also horrified, because Bucky was a _Christmas_ person. And Steve hadn’t realized that Christmas was so close, and he didn’t have a present for Bucky.

_He didn’t have a present for Bucky._

It was an untold horror in their seventeen years of acquaintance – Steve had always taken pride in getting a thoughtful gift well in advance, because he knew full well how much Bucky loved it. And he kind of loved Bucky’s face when he saw whatever Steve had gotten him; Bucky got this really wide, sincere smile that he seemed to save just for occasions when his happiness took him by surprise.

It’s not like Bucky wouldn’t understand that Steve didn’t have a gift for him now. Bucky had been there for him this year, every step of the way, and he’d probably just shrug and smile and say it was no big deal, he knew what Steve was going through. But it wouldn’t be _the_ smile, and Bucky would be kind of disappointed deep down, and after all his support, he deserved something amazing.

So he begged off breakfast and lunch, saying he had errands to run, and he must have looked kind of desperate and manic because that would certainly explain why Bucky let him go with barely any questions asked.

-*-

Shopping on December 24th was something that Steve promised himself he would never do again. Braving the throngs of people desperately looking for last-minute gifts and getting shoved this way and that in the crowds was not his idea of a good time. One middle-aged woman actually hissed at him. _Hissed_. Like an angry cat.

Steve had realized that he needed to get presents for Bucky’s entire family as well as Bucky, but he didn’t have any earthly idea of what they might want or need. Usually he’d have asked Bucky, but if he called Bucky now to say he was shopping, Bucky would realize that Steve was getting his gift as well. On the 24th. The day before Christmas. Obviously, that would not do.

So, Steve compromised, and got people gift cards to shops that he knew they frequented. Bucky’s oldest sister liked an art supplies store that Steve had actually taken her to the first time, so Becca was easy. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes both liked books. The youngest two of Bucky’s sisters liked shopping for clothes, so that was them taken care of. But what on earth would be good enough for Bucky?

In the end, Steve got him the biggest box of chocolates that he could find, and a notebook that would need a bit more work before it was ready.

-*-

When Steve got back to his apartment, a little after lunchtime, he froze at the doorstep, shocked and speechless.

Bucky was puttering around in the living room, and – Steve took a look around – it seemed he’d decorated the entire apartment. There was a Christmas tree in the corner behind the couch, full of the ornaments that Steve and his mom had collected over the years. Bucky had strung up the lights by the window that Steve’s mom had bought just last year.

Bucky was even hanging up mistletoe.

Steve felt like there was something very heavy lodged in his throat.

Bucky probably hadn’t heard the sound of the door over the Christmas carols he was blasting on Steve’s stereo, so Steve tried to pull himself together and walked in, clearing his throat.

“Hey, Buck,” he said, and Bucky jumped about half a foot in the air.

“Steve! Hi! I thought you’d be out longer!” Bucky’s voice was approximately an octave higher than usually, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“This is amazing, Bucky,” he said, turning to take a longer look around the living room. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to put everything up the way his mother would have done, but now that Bucky had done it for him, he had to admit that it looked right. It would have been a shame if everything had been left to gather dust for another year. He turned to face Bucky again, and was sure the smile on his face looked absolutely besotted. “Thank you.”

Bucky shrugged and looked away – Steve was fairly sure Bucky was blushing. “It wasn’t a big deal, really. I just figured you’d appreciate it.”

“I do. It’s a big deal to me,” Steve said, taking a hesitant step closer. He’d been head over heels for Bucky since he was a teenager, and sometimes he’d thought that maybe Bucky felt the same, and he still wasn’t sure, but this –

Steve could explain away the support when his mother was ill, and when she finally died. He’d maybe be able to excuse the Christmas tree, as well, if he was really determined to live in denial. But the mistletoe, when Bucky knew that he was pretty much the only visitor Steve got?

And the blushing, and the bashfulness, and the proud little smile Bucky got when he’d made Steve happy?

Steve wasn’t absolutely sure, but he hoped.

So he took another step closer, and pointed out the obvious. “We’re standing under the mistletoe,” he said softly, and it was true. They both were – because Bucky had just hung it up, and now Steve was close enough that their chests brushed together when they breathed in.

Bucky gave kind of a jerky nod, and it seemed he was frozen in place – Steve could understand, he felt like his heart was about to gallop right out of his chest, he was that terrified – but the look in his eyes was hopeful, so Steve leaned in and closed his eyes and pressed a soft kiss on Bucky’s lips.

He held still for a moment, to give Bucky time to respond or escape; it tickled his upper lip when Bucky breathed out, and the feel of it made Steve’s heart skip a beat. After an interminably long moment of suspense, when Steve was sure he would die of embarrassment if Bucky didn’t respond, Bucky sagged against Steve, grabbing a hold at the back of his neck with one hand and the front of his coat with the other, and kissed Steve.

His lips were soft, and his mouth was hot and tasted of cinnamon, and the cotton of his shirt was warm in Steve’s hands, and Steve was certain he would remember these details for the rest of his life.

They didn’t untangle when they stopped kissing to breathe, just leaned their foreheads together, and Steve opened his eyes again to look at Bucky – he was flushed, and his smile outdid even his Christmas present grin.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since I was fifteen,” Bucky confessed, huffing out a little laugh. “Remember, when you had your Christmas caroling idea, and you were so happy that it worked? I think that was the first time.”

Steve laughed, too, and held Bucky to him tighter. “We are so stupid,” he said, leaning his head down at the junction of Bucky’s throat and collarbone, to take a whiff of his scent like he’d been dying to do for years. He pressed a little kiss there, too, and it make Bucky shiver. “I think I’ve spent every New Year’s Eve since then trying to come up with reasons to kiss you at midnight.”

“You can actually do it this year,” Bucky promised, and Steve had to kiss the grin off his face.

-*-

The next morning, Bucky was proudly displaying the monster of a hickey that Steve had left on his neck. Becca hadn’t stopped crowing about it since she’d seen it, and Steve’s entire face had been aflame with a ridiculous blush ever since, but he also couldn’t stop smiling, so it evened out.

He spent his first Christmas morning with the Barnes family comfortably snuggled under Bucky’s arm on the couch. They all appreciated his presents, and when Bucky got to his notebook full of Steve gift cards – some of them were innocuous, like a promise to take Bucky to a baseball game, or a movie, but some had taken a dirtier turn now that Steve was fairly sure they’d be well received, too – he leafed through it, and laughed and squeezed Steve closer and pressed a kiss into his hair, which was probably Steve’s favorite reaction yet.

He’d have to see if he could top that next year.

**V. The Christmas surprise**

One of the benefits of being somebody’s best friend for as long as you could remember, Steve found, was that you learned to know them. You learned to know them _really well_. And one of the things Steve knew about Bucky was that if he got curious at all, he went looking for his Christmas presents. Every year that Steve had found something really great for Bucky, something that he was really excited to give, Bucky couldn’t take the suspense and took a peek.

Steve figured that if he didn’t give Bucky any time to look – like two years ago, when he’d all but forgotten about presents until Christmas Eve – there wouldn’t be a chance for him to spoil the surprise. But Steve really liked getting all his ducks in a row well in advance, so he didn’t want to rely on that approach.

And this year, Steve really wanted Bucky to be surprised.

The thing was, he and Bucky lived together now, in the apartment that Steve had shared with his mother growing up. And aside from when they went to work, they didn’t really spend all that much time apart. They didn’t commute together, so Steve could buy the gift without Bucky noticing, that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that Steve wouldn’t be able to act normal once he had it, and Bucky would certainly notice that.

So Steve needed to find a good enough place to hide it that Bucky wouldn’t find it too soon.

And, well, what could go wrong with keeping it on himself at all times?

-*-

The answer was discretion. Keeping it discreet could, and did, go wrong quite spectacularly.

It wasn’t a big present, just a little box, but it was surprisingly cumbersome. When Steve had it in the back pocket of his jeans, Bucky would ask about the weird lump. Also Steve would sit down, and immediately jump up, when the box reminded him of its existence. It was awkward. Having that kind of a bulge in his front pockets just got him strange looks all around. And keeping it in the pocket of his coat, where he couldn’t really feel it all the time, had him patting himself down more than a few times in fits of paranoia, just to make sure it was still there.

He could have taken the actual thing out of the box, of course, but that would have just amplified his paranoia about losing it.

Even with all the weird looks and teasing he got from Bucky and the rest of his friends, he still managed to keep it to himself for a good long while. And then finally, two days before Christmas, when he was almost there, he was lounging around on the couch after a long day, with the box in his right front pocket.

And Bucky sat on his lap, right on the box.

“ _Ow!_ Damnit, Steve!” Bucky cried, getting back on his feet and turning to face Steve with a betrayed look. “What the hell is it? You’ve been carrying that thing around for weeks now, and enough is enough.”

And Steve, knowing from nearly two decades of experience, could recognize when Bucky would no longer back down. Well. He’d _almost_ made it to Christmas. Better now than three weeks ago, he supposed.

“Will you let it go if I promise to tell you really soon?” Steve tried anyway, and Bucky just crossed his arms over his chest in a show of obstinacy. “Fine. Sit down.”

Steve patted the couch cushion next to him, and Bucky hesitantly lowered himself on it, starting to look a little worried. Steve just dug the little box out from his pocket, and pushed it over to Bucky.

“I had a speech prepared and everything, you jerk. I was going to say that I never even thought that I could love someone as much as I love you, and that you make me feel so good about everything that I don’t even have words. And you always say that I have a heart of gold, but you’ve given me so much over the years – a family, _yourself_ – that means the world to me, and you just brush it off like it’s nothing, because you think it’s a given that I should have those things. Because that’s just how kind you are. And as far back as I can remember, I’ve always had you in my life, and I don’t even want to imagine a time when you might not be there. So as soon as it’s legal, I want to make it official and marry you, if only you’ll have me.”

During Steve’s little speech, Bucky had opened the box, and was now taking turns gaping at Steve and the two plain golden bands.

“Yes,” Bucky said, as soon as he was sure that Steve had stopped talking. His voice was suddenly hoarse, but strong and clear. “I mean, I don’t think you actually asked a question there. But yes, I’ll marry you.”

Steve was smiling now – he was certainly feeling happy enough that he figured he’d be lucky if he stopped smiling at all for the next month, at least – and leaned in for a kiss. It was a short one, as it was difficult with them both grinning like absolute lunatics.

“It’s what you get for asking me to do it on the fly,” Steve said, “the speech would have been a lot more coherent if you’d let me do it as planned. And the question definitely would have been there.”

“You’re pretty good at winging it, Stevie,” Bucky replied, taking Steve’s hands and giving them a squeeze. “Now, I’m assuming that one of the rings was for you. Which one is it, and can I put it on you already?”

They slid the rings on each other with slightly shaking hands, and Steve found himself blinking back tears of joy for the first time in his life. Bucky’s eyes were glinting suspiciously, too, when he looked back up at Steve.

“You know it goes for you, too, right? I know we don’t say it out loud much, but I love you, too. So much. And I wouldn’t know what to do with my life if you weren’t there,” Bucky said, his voice wavering a little.

“I know,” Steve assured him, and kissed him again. This time they didn’t stop for a long, long while.

**VI. A quiet Christmas at home**

It kind of slowly crept up on Bucky, the giddy feeling, as he was lying in bed on Christmas morning.

He was twenty-seven years old, and married to his best friend, a man he’d loved probably before he was even old enough to really know what the feeling was. They’d been in an exclusive relationship for five years now, and they were just… _comfortable_ , in a way Bucky hadn’t really thought he could be with anyone.

It didn’t mean that there was no passion, or that they took each other for granted. It was rather just that they could be themselves, with no need to pretend that they were something different, and no fear of judgment for it.

And sure, they argued sometimes. About little things, like Bucky leaving dirty dishes lying around. About big things, like Steve’s stubborn pride and independent streak that sometimes drove him to internalize things in an effort not to bleed on other people. About scary things, like adoption.

But even at their worst, the fights never felt final. It didn’t feel like there were things that the two of them could not overcome together.

Bucky as a teenager had sometimes looked at his parents and wondered what it would be like to share decades of your life with someone, and to choose to keep doing it every day. He’d imagined how he’d like it, how a relationship like that might work for him.

And compared to his childish imaginings, the reality of Steve was immeasurably better. Their marriage was literally all that he had imagined and more. Like a fairytale. But a fairytale with morning breath and dirty underwear littering the floor – realistic, and all the better for it.

It occurred to Bucky that this train of thought was perhaps too sappy to be allowed while he was lying in bed and staring at his sleeping husband, but it wasn’t like there was anyone around to read his mind. Only Steve, snuffling quietly in his sleep, beautiful and golden and entirely Bucky’s.

Compelled by an urge to touch, Bucky wrapped an arm around his husband and snuggled in closer, breathing in the smell of Steve’s hair. They didn’t have anywhere to be today, no obligations to anyone and nothing important to do. So he went back to sleep, draped around Steve. The world could do without them for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Also [on tumblr](http://dmeldrabbles.tumblr.com/post/135473953501/heres-my-stucky-secret-santa-present-for) if you're at all interested.


End file.
